


without you I don't have a safe place (from all the monsters)

by driedupwishes



Series: how to build a family out of bits and pieces [3]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-18
Updated: 2014-12-18
Packaged: 2018-03-02 00:36:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,141
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2793389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/driedupwishes/pseuds/driedupwishes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Throin is generally good at being a parent, but being a single parent after so many years of having Bilbo at his side is still rough. So he manages getting the two kids to school and through their homework, making sure they're fed and that their teeth are brushed (because Kili still needs nagging about that, even at the age of eighteen), right up until the moment he can't handle it anymore. </p><p>What he can do, however, is learn how to fight zombies and order Chinese. </p><p>Hopefully Bilbo won't be too mad when he comes home to find anarchy has reined in his absence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. no man is an island

He was tired, frustrated, and hungry as hell. Traffic had been terrible getting home, the grocery store packed with people still in their clothes from work, tired eyes and restless frowns everywhere. Thursday nights were awful, close enough to the weekend to taste but with one more long day between everyone else and a morning spent lazing around in bed. The past week had been particularly hard on Thorin, with a dull headache that lurked between his temples for the past three days and a load at work that kept him up into the early hours of the morning each night. He trudged through the front door of his home, shoulders aching with the strain from the weight of his laptop bag, only to pull up short at the emptiness of the living room.

“Kili,” he called out quietly. The beat up old stick shift Dwalin had gotten Kili last year had been in the driveway, so it was highly unlikely that Kili wasn’t home. But the house was as silent as a statue posed above a forgotten grave. Thorin’s stomach dropped to his knees and he rushed forward, not caring that his laptop bag slipped from his shoulders. He opened his mouth to yell for the boys, worry making his throat tight, when a familiar sound registered in his brain. Relief rushed over him so fast that his knees almost buckled and he wobbled a little as he walked toward the basement door. It was barely open, just enough that he could hear the faint sounds of the video game drifting up from the basement, which had been a game room since Kili had turned eleven. 

Kili was hanging upside down from the couch, head hanging off the front end, legs thrown over the back. The sleeves of his long sleeved shirt were rolled up to his forearms, even though the basement was easily the coldest section of the house in winter. He wore one of his rattier pairs of jeans, laundry not having been done in two days, and mismatched socks. Frodo was sitting cross legged atop the coffee table, battered and scarred as it was already it creaked loudly every time the boy shifted his weight. The little boy was wearing one of Fili’s old beanies, the bright red one with the logo from one of their video games, with his black curls peeking out from under the rim. Frodo’s tongue was stuck out between his teeth as he rocked back in his jeans and long sleeved shirt. Thorin was pretty sure Frodo had been wearing that shirt on Monday, something he hadn’t noticed in the morning rush to get him to school. 

“Boys,” Thorin said. Both boys squeaked like startled mice, limbs flinching in every direction. They didn’t turn to face him, Frodo’s shoulders hunching a little bit and Kili’s twitching foot stilling. 

“Hi Uncle Thorin,” Frodo answered. Kili muttered something of an echo of those words, hands clenching even tighter around his controller than he had been before. 

Thorin didn’t really want to be the bad guy, but it was a school night and both the eight year old and the eighteen year old looked rather suspicious. He sighed through his nose, hands twitching at his sides before he cleared his throat pointedly and said, “homework check.”

Both boys tried to make themselves as small as possible like guilty little kittens. Thorin felt the frustration build inside him once more, making him clench his hands into fists. Part of him wanted to throttle the boys, irritated that they weren’t following the routine that had been set up since Fili and Kili weren’t any taller than his hips, but the majority of him just wanted to turn around and go back to bed, dinner and the boys be damned. However Thorin wasn’t a child and he knew what he needed to do, so he gritted his teeth and counted to three.

“Homework check,” he repeated evenly. Kili sighed miserably and sat up.

“English,” he admitted. His dark hair was mused, his cheeks flushed from hanging upside down. Frodo wiggled around until he sat facing Thorin as well, lower lip stuck out just the slightest bit. 

“Math and science,” Frodo added softly. “Sorry, uncle,” the little boy finished. He placed his controller quietly on the table he sat upon and started to stand up. Kili dropped his controller on one end of the couch and reached for the book his class was reading, which had been lying discarded upon the floor. Kili had been having troubles with that particular book, troubles Thorin couldn’t ease. Frodo hated math and science.

It was never easy when Bilbo went to attend a conference out of town. Thorin always tried to pretend it wasn’t hell on Earth when he was gone, but Bilbo had been fussing through their lives for much too long for them to survive without him for more than a few hours. Thorin had woken up in an empty bed for the past five days and was likely to keep waking up to one for another three or four. He would never begrudge Bilbo these conferences, because his husband was always so thrilled to be invited and came back babbling about old books, excited and rosy cheeked. There was nothing Thorin loved more in the world than an excited, happy husband. 

Bilbo would have been able to help Kili understand his book. He would have been able to engage Frodo in his math and science too, through some kind of parental witchcraft Thorin still hadn’t mastered. Somehow he would have done all this with dinner simmering along and laundry spinning away merrily in the washer. 

Something hot and wild rose in Thorin’s chest, making his work clothes stifling and constricting, making his skin itchy and too tight. Thorin turned from the basement and marched to his bedroom, flicking the buttons open on his work shirt as he did so. He then dug out an old Henley of his and pulled that on, unbuttoning his dress pants and kicking them off as well. They got stuck on his dress shoes, which he toed off jerkily. As soon as he had on a pair of sweatpants he dug his phone from his dress pants pocket and marched his way back through the house, leaving his clothes in a pile on his floor and his laptop bag abandoned on the floor of the kitchen. 

“Okay, put that down,” he commanded the two boys who had dutifully begun their homework. Kili’s head snapped up to look at him, confusion written across his face. Frodo didn’t even pause, flinging his math workbook away from him with haste. “Our first order of business is to discuss what we’re ordering in for dinner. After that one of you two needs to find me a controller you haven’t lost and put in a game that I won’t be wretched at. Do you understand your mission?”

Kili blinked at him for a long minute, but Frodo had no such problems. “Chinese,” the eight year old insisted in a hiss, eyes alight with glee. “We’re having Chinese for dinner!”

“I said we’d discuss what we’re having, not that you’d declare your opinion as fact,” Thorin remarked dryly, taking the stairs two at a time. He plucked his nephew’s book out of his limp hands, dropping it back on the floor where it had been when he had come home. “Close your mouth, Kee, or flies will get in.”

Frodo stuck his tongue out at Thorin in defiance before loudly insisting that they needed to have Chinese or he would perish. The more Frodo babbled the less bewildered and more excited Kili got, until the eighteen year old was grinning just as widely as the eight year old.

“Yeah, c’mon Uncle Thorin,” the dark haired teenager whined, “let’s have Chinese!”

“Fine,” Thorin sighed. He rolled his eyes fondly as the pair whooped and hollered. He pulled out his phone and watched as they then proceeded to argue over which game Thorin would be least awful at, both of their reasoning flying completely over his head. He placed the order for their food, feeling the tension and the stress of the past few days slide away.

“Hey uncle,” Frodo said, dropping back down upon the coffee table enthusiastically. The poor thing creaked like it was going to shatter, but Thorin had built that coffee table himself and had faith that it wouldn’t break. Thorin hummed to show he was listening. “Can we stay home from school tomorrow? I’ve got a math test tomorrow that I really, really don’t want to do.”

Bilbo would skin him alive when he found out, but with him out of town the excuse of ‘my kid is sick and needs attention’ wouldn’t catch him any grieve at work. Thorin only hesitated for a second before he shrugged, smiling a little bit in the corner of his mouth. “Sure,” he agreed, taking the controller Kili handed him and settled back against the sagging, soft couch. 

“If he’s not going, I’m not going,” Kili declared, flinging himself back onto the couch in his previous position. Thorin didn’t argue and instead settled down to try and learn the basic skills of zombie survival from the two dark haired boys he considered his sons.


	2. and no man is a fool

He was tired, frustrated, and hungry as hell. Traffic was terrible getting home and the airport had been crowded in the early hours of the morning, frantic speech bouncing around the inside of his skull. It was Friday morning and everyone in the damn town seemed to be trying to fly out, even though it wasn’t yet noon. All he wanted was his bed, warm and soft, so much better than a hotel bed, even though it would be just as empty…

Bilbo sighed and slumped against the window of the taxi that was currently carrying him home. He’d gotten up at 5 in the morning to get on his flight and everything ached. He hated flying; there was so much fuss and bother, and so early in the morning too. The conferences were worth such lengths, of course, but he missed his family. He missed making dinner and fussing over the boys’ homework, but more than anything he missed that grumpy husband of his taking up the other side of the bed at night. 

The taxi pulled into his driveway and the driver put the car in park. Bilbo paid the man and quietly pulled his suitcase out of the seat beside him. Maybe the man sensed Bilbo’s lack of sleep and need for peace, because he muttered a quiet goodbye and nothing more just before the door closed. Then he left with a nod, leaving Bilbo standing in front of his own house in the brisk cold of the February morning. He took in the sight for a moment; the beat up garage door closed and the mailbox flag put down in its proper place. There was a thin layer or ice and snow across his yard, turning their black roofing grey, their windows foggy and their bright green door dim. The bushes needed a trim and there were a few limbs on the old oak tree by the left corner that could be cut down, but for the most part it looked like heaven to Bilbo. He sighed, shoulders sagging, and walked to the front door. He unlocked the front door and shuffled in, kicking the door shut behind him quickly, to shut out the cold. The house was warm and welcoming, with shoes strewn down the hallway carelessly. 

“Oh boys,” Bilbo muttered quietly, lips quirking up into a fond, exasperated smile. “How is it that you can’t seem to put your shoes where they’re supposed to go whenever I leave?” Bilbo dropped his suitcase and went about tidying up the front hallway. When that was finished he picked back up his suitcase and wandered further into the house, humming softly as he went. The sight in the kitchen drew him up short, however.

“What in the world,” he muttered. There were Chinese take-out containers scattered across the kitchen counters. On the floor, seemingly kicked out of the way, sat Thorin’s laptop bag. Bilbo blinked at it for a brief second, utterly confused, because it was definitely Friday morning and Thorin’s laptop was supposed to be at work. Bilbo spun around and peeked back at the front hallway, realizing suddenly that he had just put away Kili and Frodo’s shoes, the pairs they wear to school. Why were his children’s shoes not on their feet at ten in the morning during a school day?

“Thorin?” No one answered, but he realized that the basement door was open as he wandered back into the kitchen. Bilbo dropped his suitcase next to Thorin’s laptop bag and moved to stand in the basement doorway. The sight that greeted him as the door swung open was surprising and slightly annoying, but he had to admit, it was more welcoming than the thought of an empty home. 

“Thorin,” Bilbo said, taking the stairs carefully. His husband was passed out on the ancient couch wearing an old pair of sweatpants and long sleeved shirt, hair tied back in a messy ponytail. There was a game controller on his stomach and only one sock still on his feet. Bilbo’s chest felt tight at the sight of him, warmth warring with the exhaustion that lingered from the flight. Bilbo came over to stand over him, taking in the sight of Kili and Frodo piled together on the floor under the afghan that was usually kept across the back of the couch. The television was still on, the volume so low that Bilbo could barely hear it even though he stood only ten feet from the screen. 

“Thorin,” Bilbo repeated quietly, bending down to lean over his husband. Thorin didn’t even stir, though to be fair it was always difficult to wake him up. Bilbo felt his lips pull into a grin and he reached to grab Thorin’s broad shoulder, shaking him lightly. The dark haired man groaned lowly, face scrunching up as he grumbled and grouched his protests to being woken. His head dropped to one side, the right side of his face pressing against the couch cushions. “Thorin,” Bilbo repeated softly, “wake up.”

“No,” Thorin murmured, “go away. S’cold and m’tired.”

“You’re in the basement, you daft man, of course it’s cold.” Bilbo bent over, dropping a kiss on his husband’s cheek. “Why aren’t you at work, you nutter?”

“Work nurk,” Thorin slurred. Bilbo snorted out a quiet laugh, one that startled Kili into waking. The teenager sat straight up, limbs flailing about, as he squawked in surprise. Bilbo almost felt bad for the teenager, who had wrinkles indented into his cheek from the wadded up shirt he had been using as a pillow, but the sight was too endearing and amusing.

“Good morning, Kili,” Bilbo said, trying to scowl at the sleep mused boy. He found he was grinning too much to bother. Kili rubbed at his eyes, not paying attention to Bilbo’s expression, which reminded Bilbo of the six year old little boy Kili had been, sleep rumbled, sprawled across their bedroom floor each morning as they woke up, too shy to ask if he could get in his uncles’ bed when he had nightmares. Bilbo’s chest went tight at the memory of the small, scared little boy Kili had been. He went over and crouched down next to Kili, brushing his hair back from his face. “What in the world are you doing home from school?”

“Frodo had a math test,” Kili mumbled. He rubbed at his face with both hands and slumped down, still mostly asleep, until his head was against Bilbo’s shoulder. “Didn’t wan’a go, so uncle let us stay home.” There was a long pause, wherein Kili started to fall back asleep against Bilbo before he abruptly jerked up to look at Bilbo. “You’re not supposed to be home for days,” he exclaimed, confusion like a flush upon his cheeks. 

Bilbo shrugged cheerily. “Didn’t want to stay,” he said, mimicking Kili’s excuse. Kili beamed at him sleepily, a sight which made his heart constrict with happiness. “Go to sleep,” Bilbo told the teenager quietly, pressing a kiss to his forehead, “and I’ll make a late brunch later on.”  
Kili made a kind of fuzzy huzzah noise as he collapsed back onto the ground. Frodo shifted against his side without waking up and Bilbo pulled the afghan back over both of them. Once Kili was situated Bilbo turned back around to wake Thorin, only to find his husband staring at him, face pressed against the couch cushions, mouth quirked up into a sleepy grimace. 

“Hello there,” Bilbo said, walking back over to stand by the couch. Thorin groaned, slowly shifting so that he was sitting upright. Thorin rubbed at his eyes and face much like Kili had, attempting to run his hands through his hair only to find it bound at the nape of his neck. 

“Bilbo,” Thorin rumbled quietly, “what….”

Bilbo grinned at his husband’s lack of grasp on the world directly after waking. “Having a little stint into anarchy, are we,” he asked, coming to stand in front of Thorin. Immediately his husband’s arms wrapped around his hips and Thorin leaned forward to bury his face in Bilbo’s stomach. Bilbo reached up and unbound his hair, dragging his fingers through the messy locks. “Please tell me you at least put up a little bit of a fight when they asked to skip school,” he teased quietly. Thorin shook his head no and Bilbo faked an exasperated sigh.

“Get up,” Bilbo said, making a decision. Thorin protested quietly, but Bilbo coaxed him up with a little grin. “Come on, you big lug,” he teased, “come upstairs to our bed, which can fit us both more comfortably than this old couch.”

Thorin lifted his head from Bilbo’s stomach at that. His husband rested his chin against his stomach, looking up at him with an expression Bilbo couldn’t pinpoint. He was quiet for a long moment before a smile crept across his face, pulling up the corners of his mouth and bringing a glint of joy to his eyes. 

“I’m glad your home,” Thorin muttered softly, fingers digging into Bilbo’s sides. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” Bilbo replied. “Now come up to bed. Flying is as wretched as it has always been and I’d like a nap before breakfast.” He then bent down and pressed another kiss against his husband, this time upon his lips, before turning and leading him back upstairs and to their bed, where he could finally catch some decent sleep knowing that he wouldn’t be alone once he woke up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yay! bilbo's home!
> 
> no, really, don't look at me I wrote these all like a year ago when I was so desperately in love with modern au fluff that I could hardly function. never did get around to writing the parts I was really interested in, but I'm hoping to do that soon. I hope you enjoyed!

**Author's Note:**

> two parter, should have the other part up soon. this is really just senseless fluff, like all the rest, but I had fun going over it again from my ff.net account anyway. I hope someone enjoyed it!


End file.
